


flyaway

by alderkin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Developing Relationship, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Lonely Sam Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-09-22 12:02:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17059415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alderkin/pseuds/alderkin
Summary: Trapped with--yet isolated from--his family, Sam finds solace in the company of the strange boy they find in the New Mexico desert. As Dean and Dad work a case nearby, Sam is all but left to his own devices. Lucifer makes the loneliness a bit easier to bear.





	flyaway

It was Dean who found the blond-haired boy.

The boy lay at the edge of the barren farm, his leg twisted up in old barbed wire, his calf looking more like a huge clot of congealed blood than a calf. He was lying on his side, still enough that from a distance he seemed dead.

“Sam!” called Dean. “Sam, come here -- now! I'm going to get Dad.”

Sam was the one who stood watch while Dean ran off to fetch Dad. Under the scorching New Mexico sun, Sam found himself staring hard at the boy, at the mess of yellow feathers stuck in his sweat-slicked hair. The boy's clothes were ragged, holes patched with more feathers. Oddly enough, the color of the feathers matched his hair. Such an uncanny resemblance.

“Wake up. C'mon, uh… kid. Get up.” Sam got on his knees and nudged the stranger, once, twice. The boy was breathing in shallow huffs, and he trembled as if with cold despite the fact that it was well over 90 degrees out. Sam shifted, sitting up. He eased his legs beneath the blond boy's head and put the back of his hand to the boy's face, trying to ascertain if the boy had a fever. Unsure, Sam took his canteen from his belt and poured a little water into the stranger's mouth.

The boy's eyes flew open. He coughed, wheezed, but still managed to swallow the water. When he lay his head back down in Sam's lap the sunlight caught the color of his eyes. They were blue like butterfly wings, wide and clouded with delirium.

On instinct, Sam carded his hand through the boy's hair, saying, “'S'alright now. I--I got you. Relax.”

The boy blinked, but some of the fear left his eyes.

“Sam!” came Dean's voice. Then another, gruffer voice called as well: “Who's that there, Sam?”

The boy gave a garbled yelp, trying to twist away. His mangled leg had begun to bleed fresh blood. When Sam looked up Dad was standing over him.

“Keep giving him water, Sam,” Dad growled. To Dean he said, “Cut the wire. Careful now.”

“Where are we going to take him?” Sam said.

Dad did not answer, only watched as the stranger quietly accepted the rest of the water from Sam's canteen. When the boy finished he simply gazed up at Sam blankly.

From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean begin to snip off lengths of the old wire. The boy's eyes slowly shut as he slid into unconsciousness.

 

}*{

 

For three days and nights the boy slept, right on the kitchen table, his leg swaddled in torn shirt sleeves and rags. Dad would pay no mind to him, Dean would make a few cursory attempts to remind Dad of the boy, but ultimately it fell to Sam to take care of him.

Sam sat by the table every day, even after he'd given water to the boy and changed the bandages. Sam whiled away these anxious hours by reading books, ones he’d stolen whenever he had the chance. Sometimes he could hear his father and his brother in the sitting room, talking, although he never paid too much attention, knowing they would never let him back into the hunting business. Sometimes, when he was alone, Sam read aloud from his books, read aloud to the unconscious boy.

He wondered if the boy could hear.

 

}*{

 

When the boy finally woke up, the family unanimously decided that it was best that the boy stay with them at the abandoned homestead they were (illegally) camping at. The Winchesters would make him swear to secrecy later -- right now the main concern was what they were going to do with “Lucifer”, as the boy called himself.

He ate and drank like normal, yes -- although the Winchesters had no such thing as normal diets. Burgers and sodas (and booze for Dad) were the norm. A decent dinner? No such thing. Though he never let on, Sam hated it.

Despite his taciturn nature, Lucifer also acted relatively normal, if rather quiet. And he got along alright with the family of hunters. But what was odd was the way Lucifer would not let anybody patch his clothes. He kept the feathers in the rips, and somehow sewed the ones that fell out back in with tiny stitches that were nearly invisible in their delicacy.

He would watch the birds, too, lean on his uninjured leg and stare at them through the window. He would name them in a low whisper and mimicked their sounds under his breath whenever he thought nobody was listening. The first time this happened was while Dean and Dad went hunting for a whole night, leaving Sam alone with Lucifer. Sam looked up from the book he was reading in surprise, thinking an owl had somehow entered the house. But, no, it had only been Lucifer.

Now, Sam got out of his chair to tend the fireplace. He had a fleeting suspicion that Lucifer was larger than the sallow skin that held him. As he stoked the flames, Sam cast furtive glances at Lucifer. There was a dreamy, faraway look in Lucifer’s eyes, as if he were miles away. Sam returned to his chair. Started reading again. If he wasn’t going to ever get to hunt Dean and Dad’s monsters, then he might as well just read about them and play make-believe in his head.

“You don't like being left behind,” the blond boy said abruptly.

Those were the most words Lucifer had said ever since he'd woken up. It startled Sam out of his daze -- he dropped his book on the floor.

Sam got out of his chair. Before he could pick it back up, Lucifer had darted over, injured leg and all, and snatched it up. Their hands brushed as Lucifer gave it back. A single feather fell from his clothes, sand-colored like his hair.

Lucifer tentatively picked up the feather, his eyes locked on Sam. “It's okay, Lucifer,” Sam spoke as if speaking to a frightened horse. “I won't -- I won't h--”

“Hurt me?” Lucifer finished for him. “You won't. Can't, actually.” The blond boy smiled at Sam, but his azure eyes bore the sadness of a thousand years.

“What do you mean?” asked Sam.

Lucifer just sat up, pulled a needle and thread from his pocket, and began to sew the loose feather back in its place.

“Lucifer,” Sam called, his voice softer now.

The feather resewn, Lucifer rose up unsteadily. Limned in the light of the fire, it seemed as if he were an old soldier limping home from a war. Sam stood up as well, concerned.

“I want to fly from here,” the blond boy said.

“What? Why?”

Lucifer moved to the window and stood quietly, looking out at the faraway stars. Sam followed, staying close to him, worried. Lucifer winced, and for a moment Sam thought it was because of his proximity, but then he noticed Lucifer's leg had started bleeding again.

“Come on, let's wash that off,” said the brown-haired boy. He put his arm around Lucifer’s waist and slowly guided Lucifer to the bathroom. The bathtub was filled with water drawn from a spigot in the back lot, already filled in case something like this happened while Dean and Dad were gone.

Lucifer teetered forward. He sat on the edge of the bath, still cringing from pain. Sam left the room for a minute, then returned, having fetched a bit of whiskey, a washcloth, and a roll of bandages from the kitchen. Tending wounds had become second nature to Sam, what with how Dad and Dean always came home from hunts with at least something worse than a few cuts and bruises. Now, Sam began gingerly peeling the makeshift tourniquet away from Lucifer's calf.

Lucifer made no sound, but he sat rigid as more of the rags around his leg were pulled away. The scent of blood was sour in the air. Sam sat next to the blond boy and dipped the washcloth in the water. Both boys were silent as Sam began to dab at Lucifer's wounds, cleaning off the blood. Lucifer winced, his breaths coming in stuttering hisses. With a sympathetic smile, Sam continued to wipe away the blood.

Sam handed Lucifer the towel. “Hold this against where you're bleeding. Keep pressure on it.” Without a word, Lucifer nodded and held the towel against his mutilated calf.

“This'll hurt like hell,” warned Sam, as he popped the cork out of the whiskey bottle. “Lift the towel for a sec. I'm dumping it on three… two…”

Before he reached one, Sam emptied the whole bottle onto Lucifer's leg.

Lucifer yelped and jerked, grinding his teeth together. Sam knew all too well the painful process of changing bandages; Dean had been nearly torn apart by a werewolf, but Sam had leapt into the fray and taken the blow instead, almost dying of blood loss after. Even though Sam was fully healed now, it’d still been the incident that ended his career as a hunter, as Dad deemed it. It’d been the start of Sam’s world cleaving apart from Dean and Dad’s, the catalyst for the rift in their family…

Sam shook off the memory. Once Lucifer relaxed, the brown-haired boy started to rewrap Lucifer's leg. When he had finished, Sam asked, “Still stings?”

Lucifer nodded. “But it's not bleeding so much now.”

The fact that Lucifer was speaking this much, let alone speaking to him, made Sam's spirits lift. Maybe being left alone night after night wouldn't be so bad.

 

}*{

 

Dean and Dad returned just before daybreak. Half-awake, Sam lay in bed, woken up by the sound of Dad tramping around in the kitchen, now hunting for booze. Lucifer was sound asleep on the floor, lying on a dusty mattress that the Winchesters had dredged up from the house’s basement.

Dean crashed into the room, a band-aid pasted on his cheek. “Should've been with us, Sam!” he laughed. “Skinwalker nearly gouged out my eyes!”

“Sounds great,” muttered Sam. He scooted over to the side -- the bedroom had only one bed.

“Tell you what,” Dean said as he sat down on the other side of the bed. “Dad says the next skinwalker in town'll be yours, and then we're out.”

“Out?” Sam sat up, alert. “Like, _out_ out?”

“ _Out_ out, yeah.” Dean sprawled out on the bed, pleased with himself at the nicks and tears and dried blood on his shirt. “We'll stay here for a day and a half more at the most, and then we're movin' on, Sammy. There's a possible ghost case up in California; four deaths’re just in. You can come with us on that one too--”

“What about Lucifer?”

The question made Dean stop in his tracks. “Uh, well, Dad didn't say… uh… I think he kinda forgot about Luci over here…”

“Dad said just to ditch him, didn't he?” growled Sam. The guilty look in Dean's eyes was all the answer he needed. “We can't just dump him off in the middle of the desert!”

Dean glared. “Dad said that if he's stupid enough to nearly amputate himself on barbed wire then he's stupid enough to--”

“Stupid enough to what, exactly?” Sam snarled.

There was a long pause before Dean answered, “Die quickly.” He got off of the bed and moved to the window, casting a fleeting glance at Sam.

Sam rose up to his full height, and approached his brother. He was the younger one, but the taller one as well, two and a half inches taller than Dean and still growing.

Dean cringed, but Sam held his ground. “How can you say that? How can you even hear Dad say it -- and then agree with him?”

Dean stepped forward as well, shedding his surprise like a snake does its skin. “ _I_ follow orders, _Sam_ ,” he spat. “ _I_ follow orders, and _I_ don’t do stupid things and that’s how _I_ keep myself from nearly getting _killed.”_

Shock lit Sam’s eyes, and now he was the one backing away. “Dean.”

“Don’t ‘Dean’ me,” his brother said. “It’s not my fault you don’t listen to anybody.”

“Dean--”

“Just shut up!” Dean’s voice rose into a roar. “Just friggin’ shut up and don’t talk to me anymore!”

The words knifed into Sam’s chest, each and every one sinking in until it felt as if he were getting ripped open by a werewolf all over again. He opened his mouth dumbly, like a fish out of water, then decided against saying any more, letting Dean leave and shuddering alongside the walls when Dean slammed the bedroom door shut.

And then Sam cried. He sat down beneath the window and let the tears come, damning them for how weak and vulnerable they made him feel. Why did it have to be like this? Why did he have to be left alive just to suffer isolation? Why couldn’t that werewolf have just finished the job?

“Are you okay?” A voice broke through Sam’s thoughts.

Sam looked up and saw Lucifer. Lucifer was on his stomach facing him, iridescent eyes shimmering beneath rumpled yellow hair.

“Are you okay?” the blond boy asked again.

“Do I _look_ okay?” Sam said.

Lucifer shut his eyes for a tiny bit longer than a blink, the only indication that he’d been affected by Sam’s callousness. “Do we ever?”

“You know, Lucifer, you’re a friggin’ riot, with your fancy talk,” Sam charged. The heat of anger through his body felt good, felt right being spilled out rather than being left stewing in his belly. He wiped his eyes and crossed his arms. “You think you’re something just because we pity you? You think that just because you got caught in barbed wire and lived that you have a right to a smart mouth? Well, I don’t think so. _We_ are the ones who’re feeding you and putting a roof over your head. _We_ are the ones who can just leave you for dead in the middle of nowhere. So don’t you push your luck with me.”

Lucifer cocked one eyebrow in the way patronizing therapists do. “Now you sound like your brother. Who, to you, sounds like” -- he lifted his head and put a finger to his chin mockingly -- “your father.” He lay his head back down. “Ironic how the things we hate in others are the things we hate in ourselves.”

“Lucifer.” Sam’s voice was taut, the inflection a clear warning.

“I only speak the truth. It’s my best and worst characteristic,” Lucifer said dismissively. He flipped onto his other side so he wasn’t facing Sam anymore. Silence filled the bedroom.

Sam crept over to the dirty mattress. Lucifer drew himself up tighter, obviously determined to ignore Sam. “I’m sorry,” Sam murmured. “I didn’t mean any of that.”

Lucifer sat up and looked at him. “It’s okay, Sam.” His eyes glistened.

Sam wiped his eyes. “Sorry you had to hear all that.”

“So you guys are leaving, huh.”

“Yeah.” A pang of anxiety struck Sam, and he stared at Lucifer. “Lucifer, where do you live?”

The light of Lucifer's eyes faded. “I can't.”

Sam came closer. His eyes met Lucifer's. “Where do you live?”

The blond boy looked away. Yellow feathers drifted out of his hair. “I can't go home. They said I could never come back. Never.”

“Can you tell me? Please?” Sam pleaded. “I promise I won’t do anything -- I just want to know.”

“No!” Lucifer shouted, then shook his head, his breaths quivering. He lay back down on the mattress, turning away and leaving Sam with nothing but loneliness.

 

}*{

 

Lucifer took off suddenly an hour later, when rain clouds hunkered down close to the land, full to bursting with their promised water.

“All things with wings are not meant to stay.”

 

}*{

Next morning the sun dried the land out, overcooking the softened earth back into its usual packed-in hardness.

Sam found himself completely alone that day. Dad was passed out on the couch, Dean was still fast asleep in the bedroom, and Lucifer was nowhere to be seen. Before daybreak, Sam had wandered around the close property, coming back to the house during the morning and scorching noon. Now that it was evening he was scouring the outer areas. He had found an old bike in the back lot, lain on the ground next to the rusted spigot. After wiping away the cobwebs with his hands, Sam sped off in search of Lucifer.

Hours passed. Still no Lucifer. And night was approaching fast, with all its promised cold. If Lucifer didn't come back soon… Sam shuddered. Already, he missed having Lucifer's company. Even just sitting in the living room together, not speaking to one another, just being alongside one another comfortably quiet -- that had been enough. Sam knew he had family as well, but Dad and Dean were in a world of their own, for all the attention they paid Sam.

Lucifer, Sam realized, had been his first friend in a long time.

Sam looked at his wristwatch and sighed. He knew he wouldn't make it to the edge of the farm and still have time to get back to the house before nightfall. Stopping the bike, Sam turned around and began the weary journey back.

Worry gnawed away at Sam's sanity. The desolation of the landscape was relieved only by the occasional cactus, or tree, or short stretch of brush. Even if Lucifer had survived the rain and the murderous heat of midday, how would he make it through the frigid night?

Sam slowed his bike to a halt, and he hopped off. Time for a break. As he drank from his canteen he looked on at the farmhouse in the distance. In the dirt driveway a car sat, the black Chevy Impala the Winchesters all loved more than themselves. Dean and Dad would probably wake up soon. Sam wondered, as he drank, what they would say or do when they discovered him missing. Dad would most likely pitch a fit. Dean, go search for his wayward brother. But what if Sam killed a skinwalker while out? Killed it and cut off some of its skin to show his family? Would they be impressed? Would Dad finally allow him to hunt again? Sam’s mind began to wander…

That was when he heard it. Two sounds:

Scuff of paws against stone.

Swish of tail through dust.

Sam capped his canteen messily, tied it against the frame of his bike. He spun round, panting, frantically searching for the source of the sounds. Amber eyes shone at him from a horrifically short distance. Amber, like yellow, the color of danger.

Sam clamped his mouth shut. He reached in the pocket of his shorts for his silver knife. Forced himself to breathe gently. But it was no use; the wind had brought his scent to the cougar. It was creeping close now, like a tawny wraith, emerging from the bush, tail flicking this way and that. Sam unsheathed his knife, brandishing it at the cougar. The cougar hissed, but continued approaching. Sam could see its muscles ripple beneath its fur, tight with power he would never know.

Before he knew it the cougar was on him, growling, clawing at him, teeth clacking shut just a hair's-breadth away from his throat. Sam screamed, trying to fight back but a huge paw sent his knife spinning away, and another pinned his hand down. The cougar’s eyes gleamed amber, and it seemed to smile as it stooped down to deliver its lethal bite.

Then the wind began.

It was born as a breeze, lifting and rising quickly to a miniature windstorm. The cougar yowled in bewilderment, looking away from its trapped prey. It was soon knocked away by the gusts. Sam watched it tumble away, letting out a scream that chilled his blood. As it fell it transformed into a human, and when it hit the ground it was dead, its neck broken.

Coughing, Sam's eyes watered as the dust slowly settled. He could feel his blood drenching his shirt, feel it pooling beneath him and soaking into the ground. Above him, the sky was beginning to darken, blazing orange turning to lavender. The wind was lighter now, almost caressing Sam's torn-up body.

Sam's breathing was ragged, slow. _Lucifer_ , he thought, and he didn't know why. A yellow feather drifted down from somewhere and fell into his hand, as if summoned by his thoughts.

He saw eyes blue as butterfly wings just before the lights went out.

 

}*{

 

“…shouldn't leave him behind so much,” came a quiet, gruff voice.

Dizzy, Sam gradually woke up, his chest and arms throbbing, but he couldn't feel too much pain. He had a feeling like floating on water. Like rising and falling to the rhythm of undulating waves. _Am I dead?_ he wondered. _Dying?_

Another voice pleaded, “Sammy. Sammy, c'mon. Wake up.”

More words followed, drifting in and out of focus. “…could turn into a skinwalker… Don't want to but sometimes… do what we have to do…” came the voice of an older man. There was the sound of a bullet sliding inside of a gun.

“Wait, no! Put that back! …’e didn't get bit, Dad!”

There was a pause. Or maybe Sam couldn’t hear anymore.

Then water trickled into Sam's mouth. He swallowed obediently. Sam strained to just open his eyes a little wider, but his battered body felt as sluggish as the body of a man four times his age. Sleep dragged him down, begging to keep him in its folds longer, and he acquiesced, sinking back into darkness.

 

}*{

 

Outside the kitchen door, Dean paced back and forth. Inside his head questions buzzed like flies in a box. What if Sam lost the use of his arms? What if he'd been turned into a skinwalker? What if he died, right there, right on the kitchen table? What if Dean and Dad would have just been there for him, there so the cougar skinwalker would have been more manageable? Would Sam be alive? Would Dean have taken the blows meant for Sam?

Would Dean have been on the kitchen table instead?

“Goddammit, Sammy,” Dean muttered, casting a worried look at his brother. He'd bandaged Sam as best as he could, but the deep gashes in his arm and chest had been hard to stitch up. Dad had reluctantly donated some whiskey to use as antiseptic. Now all they could do now was wait. And wait. And wait.

Anger wormed its way up Dean's throat, so thick he felt like he was choking with it. This was all his fault, and Dad's too. All of it. He left the kitchen doorway, and began to storm the house.

He cornered Dad in the living room. Rage was building up in Dean's chest, burning him up as he looked his father in the eye and snarled, “It's your damn fault.”

Dad returned the favor, staring Dean down with beady dark eyes glazed from beer. “Don't you talk to your father like that.”

“If you’d just let Sammy hunt with us, then maybe he'd be better at fighting off this sort of thing,” Dean went on. “He’s rusty now, thanks to you!”

“I have my reasons, Dean, and this just proves, yet again, that Sam can't hunt!” Dad retorted.  

“Eighteen is a perfectly good age to hunt! Hell, you took me on my first hunt when I was half that age!”

“It’s not that, Dean--”

“And what about Lucifer, huh? Are you just gonna give up on him like you have with Sam?”

“I can't take care of three kids--”

“You can barely manage two, seeing as you nearly got Sam killed!” Dean's voice broke as it rose to a shout. The tight silence that followed was broken only by the sound of Dad walking, then the door creaking open.

Dean turned away and didn't look back. He heard the door slam shut hard enough to rattle the house to its bones.

 

}*{

 

A low groan escaped Sam as he rose from sleep once more. He fought against the weight on his body, fought to keep his eyelids from sealing themselves shut again . Waves of pain ebbed through his chest and upper arms, where the cougar had clawed him. He opened his eyes and lay blinking up at the ceiling, mouth and throat dry with thirst. The sun through the window over the sink hurt his eyes. Home. No. Not home. He had no home. Only temporary shelters. This was the farmhouse. Not home. Never home.

Sam sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He heaved a sigh.

There was something soft in his clenched hand. Sam opened his fist and stared at it. A light yellow feather was nested in his palm, mussed from being held so tight. Sam ran his fingers along the edge, smoothing it out as best as he could. It took a moment for him to realize who it had come from.

 _Lucifer._ The name rang in his mind like a golden bell. Sam slid off of the table, not taking his eyes off of the feather. What could it mean? Sam knew that Lucifer must have had a hand in rescuing him from the cougar, but how?

A wisp of a memory teased the corner of his mind. He chased it, thinking back to when the cougar struck. Yes, it had attacked. Then there'd been the wind, the wind that pitched the cougar away. Blue eyes. And the falling feather. _“I want to fly from here,”_ he remembered Lucifer saying.

It all made sense to Sam now. Lucifer's asocialness, the feathers, his knack for mimicking birdsong -- it all slowly fell into place.

Lucifer was a skinwalker. An avian skinwalker.

“You finally awake, huh, Sammy?” Dean called, starting his brother out of his thoughts.

“Where's Lu -- Dad?” Sam almost said “Lucifer”, but stopped himself partway.

“He threw a fit when I told him he should've let you hunt again, take care of yourself,” Dean replied, the lack of pep in his voice jarring Sam somewhat. “I think he's getting plastered at the town pub now. You hungry?”

“I just want to drink a gallon of water,” Sam said hoarsely.

Dean chuckled dryly. “Your canteen’s on the counter behind you. I refilled it while you were off in Neverland.”

Turning around, Sam grabbed it and uncapped it. He emptied half on one swig. “Thanks, Dean.”

“Pretty funky how you killed that skinwalker, though.”

Sam choked on his water. “How so?” he said when he recovered.

Now it was Dean's turn to look confused. “You didn't kill it?”

“The cougar?” Sam sat down at the table, opposite Dean.

“You broke its neck,” Dean explained.

A funny feeling fluttered in Sam's stomach. “That wasn't me,” he said.

“Then what?” Dean paused for a second, observing his brother. Then a look of horror crossed his face. “Were you turned? Did you go all animal on it?”

“ _No!”_ Sam said quickly. “It only clawed me. I never got bit.”

“Well, then what?”

The tone of Dean's voice made Sam hesitate for a moment. But eventually Sam revealed the sand-colored feather, his eyes dark.

“It was Lucifer,” he said, softly, yet clearly.

Dean’s eyes widened in shock. For a moment he was speechless. But then he recovered, and said, “You know what that means, right?”

“Yeah, I know all too well what that means,” Sam said, putting his canteen back on the counter. He paused before turning to his brother again and adding, “Dean, you do realize Lucifer _saved_ me, right?”

“Y-Yeah, but, w-w-well,” Dean sputtered, “he’s still… whatever the hell he is.”

“I don’t care,” Sam declared. He pulled out a chair and sat next to Dean. “He still saved me.”

There was a long silence. The two boys didn’t speak, didn’t look at each other for a short while. Then Dean put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, and when Sam turned to his brother, Dean hugged him and said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Squeezed tight. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

Sam said nothing in reply, but he held his brother close, breathed in the scent of Dean’s cologne, and forgave him.

 

}*{

 

Sam woke to the rush of wings past his bedroom door at midnight.

He crept out of bed, rubbing his eyes. Beneath his bandages, his upper arms and chest throbbed. A shadow whipped past the doorway, heading towards the sitting room. Intrigued, Sam followed, moving down the hallway, peering into the room. A low fire pulsed in the hearth, silhouetting a figure sitting before it.

Sam took a step forward. The floorboards creaked under his weight, betraying his presence.

“Come in,” croaked a voice. The shadowed form turned so the firelight made his face recognizable.

“Lucifer?” Sam said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. The longhaired boy entered the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Who else could it be?” Lucifer laughed, but the sound held no mirth. He sighed and settled back into silence.

“We're about to leave,” Sam mumbled as sat down next to Lucifer. “We're leaving tomorrow morning.”

“I know.” Lucifer's voice was barely audible over the low crackling of the flames. The firelight swallowed the blue in his eyes.

“I'm gonna miss you,” Sam whispered. The truth of it made his chest feel hollow, scraped out, as if the missing had already begun. Another feeling surged up inside of him, something soft and ancient and powerful all at once. He started to move closer to Lucifer. Closer. Closer.

“I’m gonna miss you too,” Lucifer murmured, turning his head to let their lips meet…

Before Sam knew it he was kissing Lucifer, the pain in his chest and arms forgotten. Lucifer kissed him back quietly, and Sam had a feeling like electricity buzzing through his veins, something he had felt before, just not so… _strongly._

They pulled away to breathe. Sam shut his eyes for a moment longer than a standard blink, shocked at himself. “I've never been with another guy--”

“Me neither,” said Lucifer, before he could finish.

Their eyes met. The way Lucifer's eyes shone in the light of the flames made Sam's whole body burst into shivers. Sam’s hands felt too big, his fingers clumsy, his tongue thick and his mouth dry. “You saved me, didn't you? Saved me from the cougar.”

“You saved me first. I was only returning the favor.”

The two boys kissed again, harder, mouths entwining and untwining until Lucifer ended up on top, Sam beneath, their hands exploring the curves and hard edges of each other's bodies. Sam's fingers carded through Lucifer's hair; Lucifer's tongue ran along Sam's teeth, slid against Sam's tongue.  The creaky floorboards pressed against the back of Sam's shoulders as he wrestled Lucifer out of his shirt.

“Lucifer.” Sam's voice was soft, almost reverent.

“Sam Winchester.” The blond boy smirked, crouching low so he could kiss Sam's neck.

Sam gasped and shut his eyes, feeling Lucifer's teeth and tongue at his throat. Sam was secretly glad that he'd slept topless; Lucifer kissed Sam's neck, left hickeys along the ridge of his collarbones, tongued down Sam's stomach brazenly. With a small sound of pleasure Sam pulled Lucifer by the hair, and Lucifer complied, kissed Sam's lips without hesitating. Sam wrapped his arms round the blond boy's neck, face flushed red, eyes clouded with desire.

“Lucifer--” Sam spoke in a breathless whisper.

Lucifer planted a tiny kiss on his lover's cheek, then let their foreheads and noses touch. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Sam blurted out, so quickly he almost talked over Lucifer.

Lucifer smiled in a way that made Sam smile as well. “I know.” The sadness in his eyes lifted some, and that made Sam feel like he was floating on a high.

Lucifer kissed Sam again, this time on the lips, agonizingly gentle as he licked his way into Sam's mouth. Sam made an attempt to fight back, but eventually surrendered. They kissed softly, slowly, the passion making Sam’s body weak. He felt Lucifer fumble at both of their shorts, the buttons and zippers coming undone. With a wicked grin Sam tugged Lucifer's shorts down just enough to reveal the latter's underwear.

“Shit, Sam,” the blond boy growled under his breath, kicking off the rest of his clothes.

Sam laughed, pulling off his shorts and boxers as well. Lucifer licked his lips, unable to stop his eyes from wandering over Sam's body. “You're so _hot_ ,” he panted.

Sam blushed at this, but kissed Lucifer anyway, rutting against the blond boy with a hunger he didn’t know he had had. Grasping Sam's hips, Lucifer pushed back, a soft moan escaping his throat. The way he looked so bestial, his body twisting and moving above Sam was mesmerizing, and when one of his hands began stroking both of them Sam cried out. The sound jumped up louder than the longhaired boy had intended, but they were well past caring. It felt as if Sam were burning up with his want for Lucifer; he rocked harder against Lucifer's thrusts, every drag of friction sending pleasure surging through his body like a lit line of firecrackers.

“S-Sam -- _Sam--!”_ Lucifer said in a strained voice, his body shuddering, his strokes becoming more erratic, uncontrolled. “So close -- so close -- _shitshitshitsh--”_

Sam bucked his hips upward one last time, growling a litany of curses as they flew further over the edge. Lucifer held Sam close, sank his teeth into Sam's shoulder as he came, and Sam cried out from his own release, clinging to Lucifer for dear life as everything whited out.

Ah, _bliss._

 

}*{

 

When everything drifted back into focus again, Sam found himself in the bedroom, his shorts thankfully back on his legs. Grogginess made his head feel heavy as he rubbed his eyes. Something was on his foot. Cloth and feathers. A patched shirt. Sam groaned as he flipped onto his other side, then realized something was missing. And no, it wasn’t Dean; he could hear his brother’s voice outside in the kitchen. He was awake in an instant, moving down to the foot of the bed, peering over the edge.

A topless Lucifer was curled up on the moldy mattress, his face serene, no longer drawn tight from the sadness inside. He looked years younger now. The faint morning light through the window shades fell over the sleeping boy, outlining the curve of his shoulders, the lines of his lanky frame, gilding his hair in gold. For a moment, Sam thought he saw faint wings folded against Lucifer's back, but then they were gone. _Just a trick of the light,_ the longhaired boy supposed. Still, he liked the idea of having wings.

Sam couldn't help but keep staring at Lucifer. The blond-haired boy stirred, turning onto his back, a half-open eye fixating on Sam.

“Do you want to come up here?” asked Sam.

Lucifer made a noncommittal grunt, got up, and climbed onto the bed, laying down next to Sam. Sam kissed him softly, savoring the little whine Lucifer made when Sam's hand ran through his hair. “Good morning,” the brown-haired boy whispered against Lucifer's skin. “Does Dean know you’re here?”

Lucifer did not answer, only shook his head and squirmed as his lover's tongue slid up the pale column of his neck. Even in the stifled light, Lucifer's eyes seemed to glow.

“You're so beautiful,” Sam said in a voice broken with tenderness. “I don't want to leave you.”

“You're too nice to me,” The blond boy's speech was clear, despite his drowsiness. He brushed a lock of hair out of Sam’s face, tucking it behind Sam’s ear.

The longhaired boy kissed his lover again, shifting so his knees pressed against Lucifer's sides. “You deserve it,” Sam murmured. “You’re mine.” Then, thinking of those phantom wings: “My angel.”

A little sigh slipped out of Lucifer as they kissed again. Lucifer's lips tasted sweet, tinted minutely with a bitterness like something charred. Sam wondered at this, speculating to himself how that could be.

When they pulled away Sam saw tears welling up in Lucifer's eyes. Dismayed, the brown-haired boy whispered, “What's wrong?”

Shaking from the effort of not crying, Lucifer answered, “I don't have a place to go when you leave. And I can't go with you…”

“Well -- w-well, then” -- An idea sprang to mind. Sam blurted -- “We'll run away together!”

Shaking his head, Lucifer muttered, “I did that. That's why I… I can't go back. Do you really think you could make it alone?”

“But -- but I won’t be alone.” Desperation made Sam's voice rise. “I'll have you! We'll be together!”

Lucifer smiled, but it was an empty, burned-out smile. “Why don't you go eat breakfast?” the blond boy suggested. “Give you some time to consider.”

Sam cupped his lover's face with one hand. “Alright. Should I bring something for you?”

“I'll be okay,” Lucifer promised, kissing Sam on the cheek.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Reluctantly, Sam got off of the bed. He pulled on a t-shirt, making sure that his hickeyed collarbones didn't show. Just before he left, he stole a glance at Lucifer, warmth filling up his chest and billowing through his body at the sight. Lucifer turned onto his side and gazed at Sam, eyes aglow.

“I love you, Lucifer,” the longhaired boy said simply.

“I love you, Sam,” answered Lucifer. “Everything's gonna be all right.”

“I know.”

Sam finally left the room, shutting the door behind himself, then heading down the hall to the kitchen.

 

}*{

 

“Breakfast is served!” crowed Dean, placing an apple on the table in front of Sam.

Sam couldn’t hide his surprise. “How’d you get this?”

“Drove into town. Nicked a few goodies from a right and proper grocery store.” Dean shrugged. “Dad was pissed that I took the car. Said it was a waste of gas when there’s a truck stop ten minutes up the highway. But I know how you’re worried about eating healthy and all that other hippie crap.” He sat down across from Sam, idly picking at the peeling finish of the table. “Better say goodbye to this place, Sammy. It’s a shame about your boyfriend.”

The remark made Sam jump. “What?!”

“Relax,” chuckled Dean. “I was only joking.”

“A-Are you sure we -- we should go right away? Lucifer, well, he--”

“I understand, Sam,” said Dean, cutting him off. “You think he’s coming back, I know. But, Sammy, the truth is, I don’t think he’s much for sticking around. And neither are we.”

Sam bit into the apple, savoring its sweetness. “Do you need help packing up?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean nodded. “Stuff’s already out in the front -- we just gotta put it in the trunk. Did you clear out the bedroom?”

“No, not yet,” Sam said between bites. “Let me finish this first.”

“Alrighty then.” The chair scraped across the floor as Dean stood up. “I’ll help Dad pack. You clear the room.”

“Mmhm,” Sam grunted, busying himself with eating. When he was sure Dean had left, he took out his knife and cut the bitten parts of the apple off, ate the pieces, then got up and headed towards the bedroom.    

 

}*{

 

“Lucifer?” called Sam as he returned to the bedroom. “I got you something.” Only silence answered him. The bed was empty, the ratty mattress on the ground folded and put against the wall. There was no Lucifer for the morning light to outline, no feather-patched shirt in a heap at the foot of the bed. The blond boy had left, vanished. The book of lore Sam had been studying for the past few days lay where Lucifer had been. The blinds were drawn up, the window left open. Feathers littered the windowsill and the floor before it. Sam looked out through the window, saw the torn screen and more feathers on the ground outside.

_No…_

Disbelief struck Sam dumb. It couldn't end like this, right on the brink of so much opportunity. His throat closed up and he forgot to breathe. How could it be? How could this be? His mind froze. The name _Lucifer_ chimed over and over in Sam’s head, each repetition bringing more agony than the last.

_Lucifer tangled in barbed wire, Lucifer asleep on the kitchen table, Lucifer watching the birds singing outside, the blue of his eyes, the taste of his lips, the rises and valleys of his body, the way he moved like an animal against Sam, his skin barely keeping him contained…_

The sudden hand on Sam's shoulder drew the longhaired boy out of his thoughts. Sam turned, expecting Lucifer -- but no, it was only Dean.

It was then that Sam realized that he had been crying.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said quietly.

“He’s gone,” Sam choked out. “Gone for good.” Then he put his head in his hands, his breaths coming in choppy gasps, legs shaking under the weight of his grief.

“It's gonna be all right, Sammy,” Dean soothed, his rough voice tempered by sympathy. “Everything's gonna be all right.”

Sam didn't answer, merely let Dean rub the back of his shoulder, though only so much solace could be taken from the kind gesture. Eventually Sam’s crying stopped, giving way to a deep throbbing ache in his chest, and, with Dean’s help, Sam carried the moldy mattress out of the bedroom.

The half-apple lay forgotten on the windowsill.

 

}*{

 

When it came time for the Winchesters to leave, Sam had to force his numb legs to carry him to the Impala, his book under his arm. Dad was already in the driver's seat, adjusting his hat on his head. Dean regarded Sam with a put-out sort of demeanor when the younger of the two slid into the backseat.

Dad started the car and slid a mixtape into the player. Sam let himself blank out, staring out the window but not really seeing, hearing the old rock songs but not really listening. Awash in memories of his time with Lucifer, Sam stayed silent, paying no mind to Dad's briefing on the new case in San Francisco Bay. For now that was all he had: memory. Forget the fact that their relationship had begun and ended so soon; despite their recentness, all the things that transpired between Sam and Lucifer were just memories now.

But what hurt the most was not that. What hurt the most was this: That Lucifer had done this purposely, goading Sam to leave so he could make a clean getaway.

_What if he never loved me in the first place?_

The thought made tears threaten to spill from Sam's eyes. Sam quashed down the urge, picking up his book and flipping to the page he had left off on in hopes of distracting himself.

Yet not even the book was any sanctuary from his grief. Pressed between the pages was a single feather, the largest of Lucifer's Sam had seen. The tip of it was stained with ink. Beneath the feather was a note scrawled on what seemed to be a piece of folded parchment.

Sam unfolded it and began to read.

_My dear Sam,_

And with that, desire come over him, fierce and vicious, souring into an unmet need like milk left standing. He couldn’t look at the paper, look at the writing and know that it was from Lucifer. He stared out at the highway blurring past, as his brother and father's voices dwindled to silence. The purr of the Impala’s engine saturated the air. He looked at the letter again.

 _I fell in love with you,_ was traced out on the paper, in a quivering scrawl that was tentative, but elegant. There were finger marks along the edges, finger marks in dust and ink, and streaks where perhaps Lucifer’s hands had slipped, sending blackness skidding across the pale. _I’m still falling even now._

A heavy weight perched atop Sam’s chest and shoulders, the burden of Atlas nested atop his bones, ungodly bones. But he couldn’t stop --

_You are stronger than you seem, and better than you know._

_All things with wings are not meant to fall. Yet I did anyway._

_All things with wings are not meant to stay. Yet I tried to, anyway._

_Because I fell for you._

_~Lucifer_

 

}*{

 

Hundreds of miles away from New Mexico, dandelion fuzz hung in the air, drifting upwards like reverse snow. With a wave of one wing Lucifer sent them away, and the children, they laughed and picked more, blissfully unaware of his wingedness.

Lucifer let one shove a dandelion into his hands, even though it had lost some of its fur on the journey from ground to hand. The sun above was gentler in this place, not so overbearing as it was where it fell over deserts, mesas, slopes of stone and hard earth. Perhaps it was because of the trees, the beautiful, dark trees that stood straight like old soldiers who hadn’t quite lost their military habits, and the clouds stretched tight across the sky.

Lucifer gazed up into his tree’s canopy, at the blue shocks of sky through the leaves. The children left him now, laughing and chasing each other back to the thinner patch of woods where the parents sat at picnic tables, chattering amongst themselves like squirrels. He didn’t mind much. This would only be another place he would see only once.

He shut his eyes and breathed in, twirling the dandelion idly in his hand. The scent of the woods reminded him of Sam. Goosebumps rose along Lucifer’s arms as he inhaled deeper.

How amazing his Father’s creations were. Even Sam, for all of his fallible humanity.

Especially Sam.

Lucifer brought the dandelion to his lips. It gave him a feeling like teetering on the edge of a cliff, straddling the line between flight and fall. Did he dare? This was, after all, a mere human superstition. Could it truly be counted as a prayer?

“I wish…”

His words were lost in the whispering of the leaves above, but the dandelion fuzz floated away anyhow, and he bade them a silent goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from my old account.
> 
> funny thing is, this used to only be a couple hundred words, but i started adding more and more and doubling back and editing and it grew into 7.7k words before i knew it. wow...
> 
> thanks for reading all the way to the end. if you enjoyed this fic, leave a comment! i love getting feedback. and, if you have the time, i'd like you to check out my other fics as well. *:･ﾟ✧


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